The words came in
spite of her efforts not to say them.

"Then come and join us," returned Archie, with unusual affability.
"Grace was just wondering what you were doing."

"I was in the drawing-room alone. No, I cannot sit down, Archie, thank
you. I am just going to bid old Mrs. Chamberlain good-bye: she is
expecting me, and I must not disappoint her."

"Oh, but it is not fit for you," remonstrated Grace. "Sir Harry says
the wind is piercing. Do put off your visit until to-morrow, Mattie,
and we will go together."

"Fie, Miss Grace! never put off until to-morrow what can be done
to-day," observed Sir Harry, in his joking voice. "What is it the
copy-books say?--is it procrastination or money that is the root of
all evil?"

"Sir Harry is quite right, and I must go," stammered Mattie, made
quite desperate by this joke; he knew how the wind was sweeping over
the gray sea, and yet he had not said a word about her remaining. Poor
Mattie! a miserable choking feeling came into her throat, as she
closed the door on another laugh and struggled along in the teeth of
the wind. Another time she would not have minded it, for she was hardy
by nature; but now the cold seemed to freeze her very heart; she
looked quite blue and pinched when she entered Mrs. Chamberlain's
drawing-room. It seemed to Mattie as though hours had passed before
she brought her visit to a close, and yet she had been sitting there
only three quarters of an hour before she took her leave. The old lady
was very gracious this afternoon; she pressed Mattie again and again
to wait a little until Sallie brought up the tea and a nice hot cake
she was baking. But Mattie steadily refused even these tempting
delicacies: she was not cold any longer, she said; but it was growing
late, or the afternoon was darker than usual. And then she wished her
old friend good-bye,--oh, good-bye for such a long time, Mattie
thought,--and sallied forth bravely into the wind gain.

It had lulled a little, but the scene before her was very desolate;
just the gray expanse of sea, with the white line of surge breaking
into the shore; and here and there a wave tossing up its foamy head
in the distance. The air seemed full of that continuous low rolling
and splashing of breakers on the beach: a sea-gull was flying inland;
the Parade looked white and wind-bleached,--not a creature in sight
but a coast-guard on duty, moving backwards and forwards in a rather
forlorn manner, except----Here